


you, you hold my heart

by zahnie



Category: Leverage
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, M/M, Multi, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 03:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahnie/pseuds/zahnie
Summary: After a job goes sideways, Parker is captured by Moreau and loses the last five years of memories.





	you, you hold my heart

**Author's Note:**

> What a beautiful whirlwind this was! Idea to completion in just under a week :D
> 
> I have other Leverage OT3 amnesia fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1260935) (what can I say, I like what I like)
> 
> Thanks as always to greenmonstermash for your endless enthusiasm <3
> 
> Title is from [Fixed by Stars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QdahM2mUH8). I had the title ready right from the initial idea but 'even at the best of times I'm out of my mind' was a strong runner up (from [Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea by Fall Out Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bK0aX_9DYR0) cause that's the song I used to keep the action mood going)

“Good news, I got the exterior cameras back.” Hardison's voice over the comms is almost drowned out by the blaring alarms. Parker wants to cover her ears but she is clutching the cooler to her chest while she runs.

“What can you see? We're almost out!” Eliot yells, running beside her.

“All clear, baby,” Hardison says.

They've been running in sync. Eliot pulls forward a little so he can shove the door open for Parker. The heat slams into her as she bursts out. Blinded by the sun, Parker keeps running. The sooner she gets to the van, the better.

“Wait, no! It's a loop!” Hardison yells.

“Parker!” Eliot yells.

Parker blinks fast, trying to make her eyes adjust. She can hear tires squealing, car doors slamming, Eliot panting right behind her. She sees a blurry shape dash in front of her right before something hits her left shoulder.

She's thrown off balance, falling backward. Eliot catches her. Parker cries out as the pain kicks in. Her left arm lets go of the cooler by itself. She holds on, lopsided, as Eliot forces them back into motion.

“Parker!” Hardison yells.

Pain stabs her shoulder like fire made of knives. “Catch,” Parker gasps, twisting to guide the cooler toward Eliot. He curses and grabs for it while still holding on to her.

They're sort of stumbling instead of running now. Too slow. Parker can finally see the armed men closing in.

Damien Moreau is with them.

His eyes meet Parker's. He gives her a little salute. No, that's not to her, he's signalling one of his men to—

Parker doesn't think, she just pushes Eliot away with her good arm. This bullet only grazes her. It's even the same shoulder so she can't really feel the new wound yet.

Moreau smiles.

“Go!” Parker yells.

Eliot _hesitates_ so she yells at him again. “Eliot, _go_!”

He runs, holding the cooler to his chest.

Parker runs too, but she isn't fast enough. One of Moreau's men grabs her by her bleeding shoulder. It hurts so much she blacks out for a second.

Hardison's crying in her ear. “Parker! Get up! Parker!”

“Parker, I'm coming!” Eliot yells.

“Guns,” Parker breathes. She can see how many there are now. The men crowd around her. “They all have guns, don't.”

“Pick her up,” Moreau orders.

Someone hoists her up by her good arm. Moreau peers into her face. “Hello there,” he says.

Over her own hard breathing, Parker can hear Eliot gasp. He must not have seen Moreau before. “Finish the job,” she whispers so only Hardison and Eliot can hear. The heart in that cooler has to arrive at the hospital in three hours or it won't be viable, and it's a good two hour drive away.

“I didn't expect you to be so self-sacrificing, Parker. Shouldn't Spencer be taking the bullets?” Moreau smiles, like Eliot being shot is a pleasant thought.

“We won't leave you!” Hardison shouts.

Moreau pulls the earbud out of Parker's ear and puts it in his own. His lips move. Then he throws it on the ground, crushing it under his heel.

When he smiles at her again, Parker spits in his face. Moreau responds instantly with a slap that rocks her head back. She hazily sees him pull out a handkerchief and wipe her saliva away.

“Whatever are we going to do with you?” Moreau asks, quietly.

~~~

They hurt her. She won't talk to them, any of them. Moreau hates that. Parker's glad, whenever she has the energy to spare.

She didn't know before how bad something like this could be. She's been caught by law enforcement and held hostage a couple of times. But hour after hour of inventive pain? She had no idea.

Moreau tells Parker horrible things Eliot's done for him. Some of them must be lies. She tries not to listen. She tries to forget.

She has to be somebody who can survive this.

Her shoulder wounds are infected. They've never changed the bandage. Her skin is hot and tight. She's confused more and more.

She isn't silent but she won't give them any words. Sometimes, Parker's not even sure if she _can_ talk anymore.

Sometimes it's hard to imagine her life before. Belonging. Love. She has to hide it away. She has to get through this.

~~~

Parker wakes up. She's lying in a bed with a white sheet over her body. Her head feels... bad. _Everything_ feels bad. She doesn't remember going to sleep here.

She tries to sit up. Her wrists and ankles are cuffed to the bed. Not regular metal cuffs but padded restraints. It could take a little while to get out of these.

The two men in the room wander around, talk to each other. They have guns but no uniforms. There's no windows in the room. No beeping machines. This isn't a hospital.

Parker hasn't been inside a hospital since she's been on her own. They don't have anything worth stealing that isn't easier to get from a medical supply warehouse.

Her head hurts but on the inside. She tries to remember the last job she was doing. The Louvre? Rio? It's a bit of a blur.

A dark-haired man in an expensive suit comes in while Parker's still covertly working on the restraints. “Awake, I see. Ready to continue?” he asks, smiling. He has an unfamiliar accent.

She doesn't know what he means. “Who are you?” she asks. Her voice cracks.

The man blinks at her. He touches her forehead, reaching out so suddenly that she flinches. “Fever's gone so you shouldn't still be delirious.”

“I'm sick?” Parker croaks. She aches all over, especially her left shoulder.

“Brain damage, maybe.” He moves his hand from her forehead to smoothing her hair. “What year is it?”

Parker can't tell if he's joking. “I don't know.” He must know her even though she can't recognize him.

His hand stops moving. He stares intensely at her. “Well,” the man says after a pause. “_This_ is interesting.”

“What is?” Parker asks. She clears her throat. She's so thirsty.

He leans back, finally pulling his hand away. “I have to confess, I _was_ getting a little bored with our previous arrangement, Parker.”

“Who are you?” she asks again.

“You can call me Damien.” He smiles. “We're going to have a lot of fun together.”

“I'm not having fun,” Parker mutters. She shifts, trying to move into a more comfortable position. The restraints hold her back.

Damien laughs and leaves the room.

~~~

Parker eventually slips out of the restraints. The men in her room think she's boring. They only looked alert when Damien was there.

She makes it to the hallway outside the room without getting caught. She's all wobbly. It's horrible. She clings to the wall, creeping along instead of running. It takes _forever_.

“Out for a walk?” Damien asks.

Parker jerks her head up. A wave of dizziness makes the dim hallway rock for a moment. Then she sees Damien standing in a nearby doorway, watching her.

When she doesn't answer right away, Damien sighs heavily. “Not this again. Speak when you're spoken to and we'll get along much better.” He steps into the hallway.

“Why am I here?” Parker asks. She's been wondering that since she woke up.

“You work for me,” Damien says.

Oh. That doesn't seem right. Parker's been freelance for a long time and she likes it that way. The pay must be amazing.

Damien coughs pointedly.

“I can't talk all the time,” Parker snaps, annoyed. “Thieves have to be quiet.”

Damien snorts. “I suppose that's true.”

Of course it's true. “If I work for you,” Parker says slowly, “why was I tied up?”

“A test.” Damien waves his hand. “Well, since you're up, you might as well be useful. How's your aim?”

“With what?” Parker's interested now.

“Come here and I'll show you.” He gestures to the room next door. As he does so, the two guards burst into the hallway from the room Parker woke up in.

“And they've failed the test,” Damien says.

The men rush toward them. “Sir, we—” one of them starts.

“You're fired,” Damien says. He unlocks the door with a keypad. Parker absently memorized the number.

The door opens into a firing range. The two men in there snap to attention when Damien walks in.

“Pick your target,” Damien says.

Parker looks at the four targets across the room. The heads have photos of real people: a black man, two white men, and a white woman. They're all staring at her. Parker stares back. There's something familiar about them. She can't quite place what it is.

“Well?” Damien asks.

Then, she gets it. “That's the insurance guy,” she says, pointing at the older white man. What was his name? “He couldn't catch me.” How long ago had that been?

“I'll say one thing, you're certainly committed.”

“Why are their photos there?” Parker asks.

Damien unlocks one of the cabinets and pulls on a bulletproof vest. “Practice,” he says, loading a gun.

Parker hasn't worked much with guns. Archie taught her that they're an emergency-only tool. Plus, they usually make a lot of noise.

Damien positions himself in front of the other white man, the younger one. He beckons Parker over. He doesn't give her the gun. Instead, he stands behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asks. He's uncomfortably close.

He covers her arms with his and holds her hands around the gun. “Let's shoot together,” Damien whispers in her ear.

Parker shivers. She doesn't like this. He's too close.

The gunshots are unreasonably loud. Her ears are ringing by the time they've emptied the clip. None of the shots hit the man's photo. Somehow, Parker's glad about that.

“I'm done,” she says, slipping away, not trying to take the gun.

“We're definitely going to have to work on that.” Damien sets the empty gun on a bench. “No rush. Besides, it's time to dress for dinner.”

Parker looks down at her clothes. She's wearing a black tank top and grey fleece leggings. They feel kind of grimy against her skin, like she's been wearing them for a few days.

“I surround myself with beautiful things, and right now, you are definitely not beautiful,” Damien says.

“I'm not a thing either.”

Damien laughs. “You're funny! I had no idea.” He lunges forward and grabs Parker's arm. She tries to pull away but her shoulder hurts so much she has to stop.

“Come along now.” Damien walks too fast out of the firing range room, making Parker stumble after him. He has to know he's hurting her. He can see the bandages on her shoulder as well as she can.

“Let go,” Parker says but Damien acts like he doesn't hear.

He takes her to an inner room of the building, opening the door without knocking. It's full of women. They turn toward Damien and all stop talking at once.

He smiles at them. “Girls, I have a challenge for you.” He pulls Parker into the room. “Have her ready for dinner. One hour.” He releases Parker's arm and leaves.

As soon as the door closes, one of the women says, “Hair first. It'll take the longest.” Her hair is a straight, shimmering, brown waterfall that reaches almost to her waist.

Parker backs away. She finds the door handle by feel and turns it. It's locked.

“She looks about your size, Gretchen,” another woman says. “Go see what you can find.”

They cluster around Parker. “Please cooperate,” one of them whispers.

“Don't talk to her,” another hisses. “Remember Vanessa.”

“What happened to Vanessa?” Parker asks.

The women shiver but don't answer. They prod Parker gently with their manicured fingertips until she moves the way they want her to.

Parker catches sight of herself in one of the mirrors. There are healing bruises all over her face. She can't remember how she got them. She looks away quickly.

Hair, dress, makeup, shoes. The first shoes they pick out are awful. “No heels,” Parker says. She's unsteady right now in bare feet.

“Do we even _have_ any flats?” a blonde woman asks.

“Give her these,” Gretchen says. She's the only woman Parker has managed to match to a name. She holds up a pair of black shoes with ankle straps. Their heels are wider instead of coming to a point.

Parker tries them on. She can stand and walk, more or less.

The click of the door's lock releasing makes all the women freeze. A man pokes his head in. He doesn't look familiar. “I'm here for Parker specifically and five others, your choice,” he says.

The women look at each other. Parker can see they're communicating. Then two of them start gently nudging Parker toward the door, with three more joining the group on the way.

On the way to dinner, Parker calculates how much money she would need to get paid for this whole ridiculous setup to be worthwhile. There are _a lot_ of zeros in her answer.

Damien actually applauds as they come in. Parker's hair is curled into big ringlets. Gretchen lent her a too-tight, sleeveless, red dress. They slathered makeup over the bruises and marks the dress doesn't cover.

“An astonishing transformation!” Damien exclaims. He pats the chair next to him. “Parker, come here.”

Parker hesitates. The man who fetched them pushes her so she stumbles forward.

“That frown is ruining the effect,” Damien says as Parker sits down beside him. He has a phone in his hand. He holds it out at arms length and leans toward her. “Smile!”

Parker has had enough. People don't hire her to be decorative. She snatches a fork off the table and stabs toward Damien.

The fork connects into flesh but it isn't Damien's. One of the men howls in pain as he falls back, the fork sticking up out of his arm. Someone pulls Parker's chair over backwards. Her dress rips under one arm as she tries to catch herself. One of the men grabs her shoulders to pin her to the floor. Parker cries out as his hand slams into her hurt shoulder.

Damien stands over her, shaking his head, still holding the phone up. “Parker, I thought we were past this,” he says.

“None of it makes any sense!” Parker yells. “I don't _take_ this kind of job, there isn't even anything to steal!”

“This was another test. One which you failed spectacularly. Pick her up.”

Two of the men hoist Parker up and hold her between them. Damien adjusts his grip on the phone. He's been _filming_ her. Why?

“Who do you work for?” Damien asks.

“You,” Parker says, “And my fee just doubled.”

Damien laughs. “And how much is your fee?”

They would have already arranged that. How can she not know?

“That's what I thought. Definitely brain damage.” He turns the phone around so he's filming himself. “So you see, Spencer, even if you _could_ rescue the girl, there would be no point. The Parker you knew is gone.”

Nobody's coming to rescue her. That's what happens when you work alone: you rescue yourself.

Damien sets the phone on the table. “Are you ready to behave?” he asks Parker.

“No.”

He sighs. “Have it your way. Take her.”

The men holding her up drag Parker back to the room she woke up in and strap her back into bed, ripped red dress and all. Then they stare at her while she plots her escape.

~~~

When the guards in her room change, Parker knows something is different. One of the new guards is too tense. He isn't relaxing into a long, boring, Parker-watching shift.

About twenty minutes in, when she's just about out of the first wrist restraint, a cell phone starts ringing. Both guards jump up. The tense guard hits the other one over the head with his chair, laying him out cold.

He fumbles the phone out of his pocket. “It's for you,” he says to Parker. But instead of holding out the phone, he holds out a tiny metal thing. She stares at him while the phone keep ringing.

The guard sighs and pushes the metal thing into her ear. Parker flinches.

“Parker? Can you hear me?” The man's voice is so incredibly familiar she can barely breathe.

“Who's there?” she whispers.

“Hey, it's okay, Parker, don't be scared. It's Hardison, okay? We're gonna get you out of there.”

“I don't know you.” She _should _know him. He sounds important.

She can hear Hardison take a deep breath. “That's okay, Parker. I'm still gonna help you. We'll figure it out later, okay?”

Beside her, the guard is whispering urgently into the phone.

“Okay,” Parker says. She pulls her wrist the rest of the way out of the restraint and reaches over to undo the other one.

The guard flinches violently as Parker sits up to undo her ankles. “Yeah, she's, uh, good to go,” he says into the phone.

“You need help getting out of the room?” Hardison asks in her ear.

“I got out before,” Parker says.

“Hallways are clear now for another six minutes or so. This is your window.”

“Are you coming?” she asks the guard as she undoes Gretchen's heels. They'll be too loud for sneaking out.

The guard shakes his head firmly. He hands Parker the closed flip phone. “Take this with you. And if you wouldn't mind hitting me in the face?”

Parker obligingly punches him. He falls over very convincingly.

Desperation gives her strength as she moves down the hallway. It helps that Damien isn't lurking around like a creep.

“That's it, you're doing great, Parker,” Hardison says. “Next turning, go right. There'll be a fire exit at the end of that hall. I've got the alarm.”

Parker's vision blurs. She thinks it's the dizziness again at first but when she rubs her eyes, they're wet. Makeup stings her eyes more than the tears. She doesn't know why she's crying. She can't seem to stop.

“Almost there,” Hardison says. He's _so_ familiar, she can't stand it.

Parker pushes the fire exit door open. The alarm doesn't sound.

“Can you climb that wall, across the lawn? I can give you another route if not.”

“I can do it,” Parker whispers. She has no idea if she can do it.

Climbing is easier than walking. She only uses her right arm. Her left shoulder has been through enough.

“Let me know when you're down. I don't have cameras out here but I can still guide you if you tell me what you see, okay, Parker?”

She drops down the other side of the wall, rolling on her landing. The flip phone falls out of the top of the dress. “Okay,” she pants, picking it up and wobbling to her feet. “Um, trees? Oh, there's a little spot of light off to the right. My right. Is this phone important?”

“What? No, leave it. Go towards the light but not straight at it. That's the gate house out of the main property. You good to climb for longer?”

“I can do it,” Parker repeats, dropping the phone. Gretchen's dress might not survive though.

“It's too high to jump down from, even for you. Make sure you _climb_ down, okay?” Hardison asks.

The twigs under the trees hurt her feet but the pain is far away. She's almost out. “And then?” she asks.

“Then follow beside the road and we'll pick you up the first intersection. Oh shit, you're not wearing shoes, are you? I'm so sorry, Parker.” Hardison sounds upset.

Parker stopped crying back at the first wall. She can feel tears starting again as she reaches the second. “You... can't do anything about it,” she pants, groping for her first handhold. “Don't... worry.”

“Yeah, good advice, can't follow it,” Hardison says.

Parker smiles. Her chest feels lighter, having someone like Hardison to talk to.

The second wall is a lot taller. _Both_ of Parker's shoulders hurt by the time she's near the top. The hem of Gretchen's dress snags on the barbed wire, as Parker is climbing over it. “Fuck,” she mutters.

“What's wrong?” Hardison asks.

She pulls on the trapped fabric, teetering on top of the wall. Finally, the dress rips free. Parker overbalances.

She grabs for the edge as she falls and catches it with her fingertips. Both hands for a split second, but that hurts too much so she hangs from one, scrabbling for purchase with her feet.

“Parker? Can you talk to me?”

“Busy,” she manages between clenched teeth. Her foot finds a toehold. She rests for a moment.

The rest of the climb down is easy in comparison. When her bare feet are back on the ground, Parker says, “Okay, I'm down.”

Hardison breathes out audibly. “Okay, that's good. We're almost done. You're doing amazing.”

Parker rolls her eyes, even though he can't see her. “If I wasn't in this stupid dress, I'd already _be_ done.”

“I mean, you can take it off if you're comfortable with that. It's your body.”

Parker considers it as she sneaks beside the road. But no, her arms and legs are getting scratched enough without exposing the rest of her skin. “Have you seen me naked before?” she asks Hardison.

There's a pause, then Hardison asks, “Do you really want me to answer that when you don't know who I am?”

“It's fine, you're a good person,” Parker says, without really thinking about it.

“Okay. Yes, I have.”

Parker doesn't know how to respond. She said it impulsively but Hardison _is_ a good person. She can feel it. “How far to the intersection?” she finally asks.

“Can you see a white van? I'll come out and wave,” Hardison says.

It takes a while longer for Parker to get to the van. It's parked just before the intersection itself at a stop sign on the road perpendicular to the one she's been following, headlights on. She sees a dark shape leaning against the driver's door.

Parker steps onto the road and walks into the intersection. She's breathing faster than before. The shape changes into a tall Black man who waves.

“Hey, Parker,” Hardison says, both in her ear and in front of her.

He's... beautiful. Parker can feel her eyes widen. She had no idea anyone could make her feel like this. “Oh, it's you,” she whispers.

Somehow, she stumbles into a run toward him. Hardison looks startled but he doesn't move.

Parker throws her arms around Hardison and hugs him as hard as she can. His arms close around her too, like a reflex. It's amazing.

For a long moment, it doesn't matter that she can't remember him. She _knows_ him.

“Parker,” Hardison murmurs, like he can't believe she's real. It's mutual. She's crying again.

It's her hurt shoulder that finally makes her end the hug. She pulls back a little. Hardison lets go right away. “Are you okay?” he asks, then corrects himself. “I mean, I know that's a dumb question but I wasn't expecting...” He trails off, staring at her.

Parker wipes her eyes. “It's _you_,” she says, like it will make sense if she says it again. “I can't—everything's gone but I know you.” She _loves_ him. That's terrifying.

“Wow,” Hardison says. His eyes move to her shoulder and he winces. “Okay, we need to get you out of here and preferably, to a hospital.”

“We?” Parker asks.

The driver's door to the van opens beside Hardison and a man steps out. He's shorter, white, about Parker's height. Every line of his body is familiar.

Parker stares at him, heart beating faster. Another one?

“I'm Eliot,” the man says. She can read his face like it's a billboard ten feet high. He's worried and resigned and afraid and relieved at the same time. “You, uh, don't have to hug me if you—”

Parker throws herself at Eliot, refusing to flinch when her shoulder protests. He hugs her back, pushed against the van. Beside them, Hardison laughs in delight.

“I'm so sorry,” Eliot whispers.

It takes Parker a minute to register what he said. She's feeling everything at once: no context, just emotions. “What?” she asks, breathless, overwhelmed. She pulls back so she can see his face. She's usually so bad at faces.

“It's my fault he caught you, that any of this happened.” He's so upset but he stares right into her eyes.

“How?”

“I... I used to work for him. We took him down before, the team did. So he's out for revenge now,” Eliot explains.

“Oh! You were the target,” Parker says. That's why the faces at the firing range were so familiar.

Eliot nods. He's still braced for something but Parker doesn't know what.

“But that's how we knew where you were,” Hardison cuts in. “Moreau sent us a live feed of you trying to stab him with a fork. A _live feed_. I hacked his security in like five minutes. That's why we got here so fast.”

“It's like the shoes,” Parker says, the pieces clicking into place.

Hardison and Eliot look at each other then back to her. “The shoes?” Hardison asks.

Parker gestures impatiently. “You're upset I got hurt because you couldn't prevent it,” she says to Eliot. “And you were the same way when you realized I didn't have any shoes,” she says to Hardison. She grins, even though it makes the bruises on her face ache. “It's the same.”

Eliot looks unconvinced. “It _is_ kind of the same,” Hardison says, after a moment.

“So, don't worry,” Parker says to Eliot. “I'm going to be okay now.”

Eliot hesitates, then he nods. “Okay.” He still looks worried but they can work on that.

“We really should get going,” Hardison says. “I know this road doesn't get much traffic but still.”

“First, let's get some disinfectant on your feet, Parker,” Eliot says.

“There's a blanket in the back too, are you cold?” Hardison asks Parker.

They both turn to go open the back of the van. Parker loops her arms over their shoulders, just because she's happy they exist.

That's when the wave hits. She remembers doing this before. After the treatment hospital job, back when they'd only been a team for a few months. Then, much later, with her taser sparking in her hand and Eliot grumpily taking it away but not shrugging her off. Her and Hardison helping Eliot walk after he got shot while they saved DC from a terrorist.

Those memories spark others. More and more until Parker loses track of her legs in the present. She stumbles. They catch her.

“Whoa,” she gasps.

“You okay, Parker?” Hardison asks.

“Are you dizzy?” Eliot asks.

“No, I'm... I got them back,” she says, planting her feet on the road again, even though it hurts.

Hardison pulls away to open the door. “Got them back?” he asks, over his shoulder.

“The memories. I think I forgot on purpose.” Parker frowns.

She can feel Eliot exhale. “Yeah, I wondered if that was it,” he says.

Hardison turns back to them. “Oh,” is all he says but there's a lot of emotions in the one word.

Parker reaches out for him and Hardison comes closer. “I'm okay now,” she says, squeezing his hand, holding Eliot with her other arm. “I got my heart back.”


End file.
